Yesterday I met with my youngest daughter's new therapist. Work was okay, I got some things done and the time managed to pass despite my fear and anxiety. It's not a good feeling to work at a place that treats my sales efforts as if I am a constant interruption rather than someone who is trying to boost sales and goodwill at the company. Doubtless I am part of the problem too, shaking up a quiet office that was content to coast rather than grow. There are eight hours left in my work week, I'm proud of myself for staying at this job despite my personal feelings and lack of professional success, that's an unfamiliar feeling to me and I'm finding it rather unsettling. I'm not sure what time I laid down last night, I saw the pillow, put my head down, and I was out for hours. I have no idea how long I slept, I woke up around ten, brushed my teeth, put on my pajamas, and went back to bed.
That's the kind of sleep I really need on a more routine basis. Yesterday I was thinking about that book, The Power of Habit, and what habits I need to cultivate that will give me more of the life that I want. I haven't heard back from the guy who offered me a job and that's been hard as well. Taking a job for the wrong reasons rarely leads me anywhere positive. So I'm learning that maybe the stability of the job I have now is better than the potential job that sounds like a better fit, but hasn't actually materialized after I rejected the first contract. Perhaps there is still something in the works, for now I am treating it as if it has gone away. It makes me sad, but if something is meant to be, then it will happen whether I make a concerted effort to chase it down, or I live my life as if this possibility has vanished for good.
I'm still extremely tired today. I would love to call in sick and spend the day sleeping, but I will go to work and put in my four hours. Seems like such a small request, the time drags when I am there, to the point where I sometimes suspect I am existing in a cruel time freeze where the clocks are perpetually stuck, and there is only an illusion of time actually passing as the day progresses. I'm learning more and becoming more self reliant, but I'm bored, lonely, kind of scared, and my job lacks meaning and substance along with other things I need, crave, and want. It's funny to me, things are better, they truly are, but I've never been the type of person who can rest on my laurels. I haven't written any fiction in ages, that seems to be a sign that things are not where I would like them to be, perhaps I need to just start writing again, but I feel as if I have no energy to tap at the keyboard and escape into my characters and their world.
Therapy was a good positive first step. I'm optimistic even as I acknowledge that there is work to be done.
P.S. I'm looking back at my life and marveling at how I survived on such little sleep.